


B-Sides

by Tricksterfaerie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother Feels, Childhood Memories, Gen, Impala Fic, POV Dean Winchester, Star Gazing, Stream of Consciousness, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tricksterfaerie/pseuds/Tricksterfaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He had fallen asleep on Mary’s lap as his mother had pointed to the sky and the constellations telling him the names he couldn’t remember until years later when he’d taken Sam to the public library across the street from the motel.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	B-Sides

Dean deftly navigates the Impala into the parking space directly in front of room number 4 at the Train Whistle Motel. He eases off on the brake as he puts the car in neutral. The sound and vibration of the low hum of the engine helping to keep him calm. He rests both hands lightly on the steering wheel and rubs his fingers into the grooves on the under side and presses his back against the cool leather; wills his shoulders to relax.

He looks up at his reflection in the rear view mirror. _Just a few more minutes baby_ , he thinks and stretches his arms over his head trying not to give in and lay down in the front seat. As far as Dean is concerned the Impala _is_ the Batmobile or maybe Black Beauty, yeah, okay, maybe even the Mystery Machine _Don’t try to tell me Shaggy and Scooby didn’t live in that van_ , he thinks to himself which causes him to start thinking about the time he spent in 1973.

He counts in his head the number of steps it would take to get from the front seat of the Impala to the bed against the far wall behind the door to room number 4 at the Train Whistle Motel. He raises one hand up the to rub the bridge of his nose trying to soothe some of the stinging in his eyes.

Dean knows now that he was responsible for John buying the Impala. He remembers tailing him to the used car lot. Leaning against the hood of the Impala, he’d watched his father very nearly buy almost the perfect vehicle for what it would eventually become to his family and yet it had been almost a knee jerk reaction. Fully knowing that some day he, John and Sam would indeed live out of the car he’d still convinced his father to get the Impala anyway. Dean thinks for a minute about the ways the Winchester men may have been more comfortable living out of that hippie bus and then he thinks about Mary and turns his head slightly to the right.

He feels the familiar sensation of drifting almost to sleep and is thrust into a crystal clear dream-memory. A younger version of himself sits in the back seat of the Impala looking up at his mother in the passenger seat. She has her window rolled down and the wind is playing with her hair, the setting sunlight gives it the color and texture of good whiskey swirling around the bottle. She is laughing at something John had said. Dean wishes he could keep staring at his mother but Dean had looked up to see his father was smiling at him in the review mirror and said something that made Dean laugh too and even though he can’t remember what is was the feeling of his own laughter rolls through his chest and the sound of his chuckle echoes inside the car and Dean feels himself pulled back to just this side of awake. He lets his eyes close again trying to summon the image of his mother back. Letting the recent memory of her as the amazing and strong young woman he’d gotten to meet fill his head.

He thinks about his young parents taking aimless drives in the car. Maybe John taking it a little too fast down an open stretch of Kansas highway while Mary laughed. Dean opens one eye and looks down at his own hand now resting on the bench seat next to him and imagines the couple’s hands clasped there and for a moment he can see Mary’s face next to him, smiling at him and then slowly turn to the window and frown like she suddenly remembered something sad.

With an annoyed grunt Dean lifts his hand back to his face and starts kneading at the tightness in his jaw and the back of his neck. He thinks again about the motel bed but then leans forward to dig a specific cassette out of the box under the front seat. He has to reach out and eject Sam’s silly ipod cassette adapter and tosses it onto the dashboard not letting himself care how pissed Sam might be if it gets warped by the sun in the morning. He feeds the rare out of print cassette he’d chosen into the player on side two and turns the volume up. He settles back again as the album picks up in the middle of _The Ballad of John and Yoko_. He let's it finish and listens as the deck rewinds the tape to the beginning of that side and starts to play again.

Dean jerks his hand out and quickly presses stop as soon as John Lennon croons out, _Heeeey Juuude_. Dean sits there for moment, his finger still on the stop button, trying to keep his body steady, since the song has actually continued playing in his head and it does not sound like Lennon’s voice anymore and Dean’s decided he’s not in fact okay with the the soft raw pressure spreading from the middle of his chest upward into his back; a longing he is sure feels even worse than the one thousand and one ways his body was torn apart and then put back together during his time Downstairs. He also knows he’s changed his mind about testing that theory for now and in one motion _ejectclickflipsoverrewinds_ the cassette and listens to _Paperback Writer_ instead.

Trying to focus on the words; his mind wanders again as his body slips into that hazy half sleep mode it goes into whenever he’s pushed himself too long, too far, too hard. He tries to remember the last thing he ate and suddenly thinks he smells barbecue and hears his father’s voice... _Hey kiddo do you want cheese on your burger?_

Dean opens his eyes slightly then and looks out the windshield like he can see it still happening there in front of the car. It plays like a home movie on a projector screen in front of him and he’s watched it a million times; blurry and overly saturated images of camping one night off the highway near a corn field with other families with kids. He isn’t even sure if it’s real or if he made it up, _maybe a little of both?_ but he stopped caring about that a long time ago.

He sees himself racing another boy in circles on the dirt path lit only by the headlights of the Impala until John had turned them off and shown the kids how to catch fireflies. He remembers a bonfire and eating a burnt marshmallow off a stick. He remembers resting his head on Mary’s big round belly when he started to get sleepy. He remembers a girl with braces cooing over him, fluffing his hair, touching the freckles on his cheeks and saying _Little Dean sure has pretty eyes Mrs. Winchester._ Dean feels himself grin at that.

He had fallen asleep on Mary’s lap as his mother had pointed to the sky and the constellations telling him the names he couldn’t remember until years later when he’d taken Sam to the public library across the street from the motel. _Don’t tell Dad we left the room, okay Sammy? Pinky promise?_ Dean had said. Which makes him think, _Sheesh, when was the last time we’d done that?_

He’d taken Sam to the kids science section and they sat on the floor down one of the stacks far away from the other kids and the little red, green and yellow plastic chairs. He’d set all the picture books of the planets and galaxies out in the middle of the floor and helped Sam trace his little fingers around the constellations and star patterns while Dean quietly tried to pronounce and memorize the names. _Sirius. The Big Dipper. Centaurus. Orion (The Hunter). Castor and Pollux (The Brothers)._

Dean isn’t ready for the movement when his entire body is dragged into sudden alertness at the sound of knocking on the window. He squints through the darkness at Sam. His large frame back-lit by the florescent light of the street lamp so that Dean can’t see his face. All grown up Sam, who pretends not to like it when Dean calls him Sammy. Sam, who has been keeping secrets from him but who will always be his little brother. Sam, who doesn’t know that Mom knew all the names of the stars and the words to every Beatles song.

“Hey there, Sammy.” Dean says even though he’s sure Sam can’t hear him. Sam is opening the driver side door and talking over the chorus of _Revolution_ saying “C’mon man, you’re falling asleep in there,” or maybe, “Don’t sleep in there.”

Dean switches off the radio and finally puts the Impala in park and turn-pulls the key out of the ignition. He climbs out and stands on shaky legs and Sam puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, smacks the bag of M&M’s he’d just gotten from the vending machine against Dean’s chest before turning away and walking toward door number 4.

Dean stands there for a minute then looks down at his hands still clutching the yellow bag against his chest, tears it open and tips one into his hand, it’s a blue one and he takes it as a good omen. He locks up the car and then counts the steps as he follows his brother into the motel room. He starts to think about the number of motions it would require to take off his shoes and decides against it and then decides to eat a green M&M next.


End file.
